


This is Love

by MicrosoftPain



Category: Minecraft (Video Game), Video Blogging RPF
Genre: (A bit of an open ending too though), Alexis | Quackity Needs a Hug, Angst, Crying, Grief/Mourning, Happy Ending, Hatred, Heavy Angst, Hurt/Comfort, Implied/Referenced Abuse, Implied/Referenced Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Kinda, M/M, Other, Past Abuse, Past Relationship(s), Protective Karl Jacobs, Protective Sapnap (Video Blogging RPF), Smoking, he gets one, this is a heavy one bois
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-20
Updated: 2021-02-20
Packaged: 2021-03-12 09:49:08
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,073
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29507865
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MicrosoftPain/pseuds/MicrosoftPain
Summary: Quackity’s heart drops when his eyes land on the grave in front of him, all of the past memories and feelings about the person hitting him like a truck. His eyes sting with tears. Fuck, he thought this would be easier.He approaches the tombstone, crouching down to glare at it. He clutches his joint tightly, hands curling into fists.“I fucking hate you, Schlatt.” He sneers.(If I find out any CCs are uncomfy with this sort of thing I will take it down! Also I ship SMP characters not people!)
Relationships: Alexis | Quackity/Karl Jacobs/Sapnap
Comments: 6
Kudos: 107





	This is Love

**Author's Note:**

> !!TW!!  
> In case you missed the tags, this fic includes;  
> \- Grief  
> \- Dead character (Schlatt)  
> \- Smoking  
> \- Crying  
> \- Mentions/descriptions of a past abusive relationship  
> \- Mentioned alcoholism  
> \- Strong language
> 
> Again, this is about Dream SMP characters, not the streamers, and will be removed if CCs are uncomfortable with it.

The ground around the graveyard is untouched, and Quackity is damn sure there’s only been a few visitors before him. There’s only two people buried here after all. Wilbur, who is visited by Phil and Tommy sometimes, and Schlatt, who no one in their right mind would ever visit.

Quackity pushes the gate open. He hasn’t been in his right mind since before the first war.

He’s also high as balls right now, his second blunt hanging from his lips.

In the back of his head, Quackity thinks that maybe it isn’t the best idea to visit Schlatt for the first time while high. He finds he doesn’t really care though. He wouldn’t have the bravery to do it sober anyway.

The SMP’s graveyard is silent. Not that Quackity expects many noises at this hour. Maybe a zombie or two. But it’s dead silent. Quackity tries to pretend he isn’t scared. It doesn’t work.

The cemetery is small too. Whoever built it, probably Sam, obviously only made enough room for a few graves. An obvious case of wishful thinking.

Quackity swats a bush out of the way and his eyes land on the only two gravestones in the place. He can immediately tell which one’s Schlatt’s. It’s much smaller than Wilburs, a little lopsided, and severely underkept. Fitting.

Quackity can feel his heart drop. He suddenly feels nauseous. And scared. And sad. He hates it. He hates being here. He recoils into Karl’s hoodie, which he’d stolen before he left.

Then Quackity scoffs at himself, shoving down the tears that threaten to spill over his eyes and stepping forward. He’s done being a crybaby. Especially in front of Schlatt.

Man, he really thought this would be easier.

Quackity crouches down beside the headstone, eyes hardening. He doesn’t bother to read what’s carved on it. He knows what it says. He wrote it himself.

“I fucking hate you.” He whispers. He can’t stop the tears from falling from his eyes this time. It all feels too real. Schlatt’s here. He’s dead. Quackity’s never felt so close yet so far from the other man. His heart is beating wildly in his chest. Alarms are going off in his brain, telling him he’s not safe. He ignores them. They’re wrong. Schlatt can’t hurt him anymore.

There’s silence for a moment, apart from a few of Quackity’s shaky breaths, and he doesn’t know what to do.

He doesn’t miss Schlatt, not really, but sometimes he longs for the moments before things started getting bad. Before Schlatt was president. Before his drinking problem got bad. Quackity does have a few good memories of the man. Not nearly enough, though. Nowhere near enough to make the bad memories worth it. Schlatt isn’t worth missing.

The thought sends a hot wave of anger and sorrow through Quackity. He does feel a bit bad for his old lover. Only a bit.

“You can’t hurt me anymore.” Quackity mutters, dropping to sit on the ground. “You can’t do shit. You’re dead. Fuck, you’re dead. I don’t know if I should be glad or sad that you’re dead, I-“ Quackity chokes on a sob. He doesn’t know what he’s doing here. He just needs to say all the things he couldn’t say to Schlatt when he was alive. He has to get this off his chest. “You were awful, Schlatt. You were shit to me and to Tubbo and to everyone else that ever even tried to get to know you. You hurt us. You hurt  _him_. God, he’s just a fucking kid Schlatt. _Your_ fucking kid. Not that you were ever sober enough to know that. Fuck. I don’t know why I ever loved you.”

Quackity pauses at the confession. He’s never admitted that he loved Schlatt to anyone. Least of all Schlatt. Not that the old idiot could hear him now, though. He wipes a tear off his face furiously. Schlatt doesn’t deserve to know, but Quackity deserves to be able to get all this off his chest and move on. He puts out his used joint on the edge of Schlatt’s grave and lights another.

“I did. I loved you so goddamn much at one point. I would’ve done anything for you, I would’ve let you do anything to me, which you took full advantage of.” Quackity spat. “I don’t think I realized how fucked up everything you did was until I got out. _Jesus_.” He takes a long drag of his blunt and curls in on himself. “You fucked me up man. Real bad. I can’t- I don’t- I flinch when someone tries to high-five me. I can’t even smell alcohol without crying.” Quackity has to pause to take a desperate breath. He can’t breath between his tears and the smoke filling his lungs. He feels kind of like he’s dying. He coughs, then continues 

“I never felt safe around you. I was never safe around you. I had to sleep with one eye open, if i got any sleep at all. My whole life was spent walking on eggshells because one wrong move and you’d-you’d hurt me. I still have scars from that wine bottle you know.” Quackity reaches up, pushing a lock of hair away from his forehead to trace the spot where Schlatt has shattered the glass over his head. He knows each jagged line by heart. They sear with pain, as if he’s being hit all over again. He sobs.

“That’s not even the worst part!” He cries. “The w-worst part is I can still hear your voice playing in my head when I’m alone. I can still feel your hands on me when I look in the mirror. I have to relive every single scream and every single yell in my dreams. I can still smell your beer-rotted breath and feel the stubble on your chin. _You’re right there every time I close my fucking eyes!”_ Quackity was screaming now, throat going raw and head spinning. “I know you don’t care. You didn’t even have to say it. You’ve never cared about anyone but yourself. If you were sorry for your actions you’d never stoop so low.” Quackity spat the accusation with as much venom and hate and pain as he could. He meant every ounce of it. “I _hate_ you, Schlatt, and I mean that with every fibre of my being. You can’t hurt me anymore. The damage has been done. I’ve been to rock bottom, and-and now I’m on my way back up.”

Quackity takes a deep breath. His whole body aches. His eyes burn with tears. He’s only been here for ten minutes, but it feels like centuries. He hates that Schlatt still has the ability to hurt him. He hates that the man still makes him feel powerless and broken and pathetic. He hates that he’s still being controlled by someone who’s six feet under. 

He also feels just a tiny bit lighter. Like all the emotional baggage he’s been carrying for so long was finally lifted from his shoulders. He knows he’s not just gonna be magically better now, and that he won’t be better for a while yet, but he’s on his way. And it feels really damn good.

He puts out his last joint on the tombstone, dropping it the the ground. Then he turns to lean against the grave. He finally feels safe enough to turn his back to the man.

“You know, I’m getting married soon.” He says with a dry laugh, holding out his left hand, which held a gold ring. “Yeah, that’s right, I’ve moved on. I’m engaged to Sapnap and Karl. It was pretty surprising. I didn’t think I’d ever find anyone else. But I did. And I’m so glad I did. They’re amazing. They’re nice and gentle and understanding and all the things you never were. I feel safe around them. I love them. I love them more than I ever loved you. They treat me right.”

Quackity takes a deep breath. He can feel the cold stone against his back and the damp grass below him. The cool air bites at his nose. The sleeves of Karl’s hoodie are falling over his hands, bringing some semblance of warmth to his numb fingers. It’s a great reminder that he’s alive. A reminder that even though he might feel like he’s dying, or feel like he’s better off dead, he isn’t. It’s a reminder that things are bad, but they’re getting better. He has people who care for him. People worth getting better for.

Speaking of which, Quackity didn’t tell his fiancés he was leaving the house. A wave of fear overtakes him.

”Shit.” Quackity shakily pulls himself up and sends a glare to the gravestone of his ex fiancé. “I’m scared right now because of you.” He mutters. He knows he shouldn’t be scared of Karl and Sapnap being mad at him, they won’t be, but his paranoia clearly hasn’t gotten the memo. “See ya later, Jshit.”

Quackity turns to exit the graveyard and freezes when he hears the creaky gate opening. He has half the mind to think it’s a ghost, maybe Ghostbur, but then he sees two very familiar figures and sighs, relieved.

“Quackity!” 

His fiancés are running towards him, looking frantic. Karl almost trips over himself in his haste to get to him, while Sapnap burns away a bush that’s in his way.

Then Quackity has an armful of Sapnap, who had ran into him with enough force to almost knock them both over. His arms are clinging to the back of Karl’s hoodie tightly, and Quackity can’t help but feel bad. He must have really worried them. Suddenly Karl appears beside them, eyes filling with relieved tears. He presses against Sapnap’s back and takes Quackity’s hand.

Both Karl and Sapnap are breathing heavily, like they’d sprinted all the way from Kinoko Kingdom, and they’re holding onto Quackity like they’re worried he’ll disappear if they let go. 

Sapnap pulls away slightly to cup Quackity’s cheeks and survey his face.

”Are you okay, love? What happened? Why are you-? Are you hurt?” Sapnap asks, eyes searching Quackity’s face for any sign of injuries. Quackity shakes his head.

”I’m-I’m fine, mi novio.” Quackity mutters, but he can tell that Sapnap doesn’t believe him. He wouldn’t believe him either. He probably looks like shit, with half dried tear tracts down his face and red eyes from both the smoking and the crying. 

”You smell like weed.” Karl comments, squeezing Quackity’s hand lightly. Sapnap maneuvers so he has one arm around each of his fiancés, pulling them into a protective hug. “Have you- were you smoking?” Karl asks, voice breaking a little bit, clearly concerned.

Sapnap plants a chaste kiss on Quckity’s forehead, also worried for their fiancé. They know Quackity only smokes when he’s having a bad day.

“Yeah, I had a couple blunts.” Quackity mutters, pressing closer to his lovers. He doesn’t miss the look that passes between the two.

”Are you... okay?” Karl asks softly. Quackity pauses for a moment.

Is he okay? Short answer, no. He’s tired and sad and confused. Every single cell in his body aches, and he’s still riddled with trauma. Plus he’s still sort of high.

All those things feel very far away now though. Even Schlatt’s grave, which sits maybe three blocks away, feels distant, like a bad dream.

Right now, all he can feel is love for his fiancés and the free feeling of finally cutting all ties with his former lover.

”Yeah, I’m okay right now.” Quackity replies. He knows it’s not a good answer, and that soon Karl and Sapnap will want to know why he visited the graveyard tonight, but right now, Quackity just wants to go home. “Can we go home? I wanna go to bed.”

“Of course,” Sapnap mutters, “Let’s go home.” He pulls away to grab Quackity’s right hand while Karl grabs his left.

As they leave, Quackity spares one last glance behind him at the lopsided, under-kept, gravestone. He won’t miss Schlatt, not when he has Sapnap and Karl to love him all the ways the ram hybrid never did.

Quackity turns away from the cemetery just in time to miss the foggy appearance of a figure slumped against the headstone, ghostly wine bottle hanging loosely in his hands, tears running down his face, and ram horns sticking out of the sides of his head.


End file.
